


When The Sun Sets

by safarikalamari



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Intimacy, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28656753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safarikalamari/pseuds/safarikalamari
Summary: Geralt is a gladiator with many wins and his master praises him accordingly.What Geralt doesn't expect is an unassuming guest who turns him on his head in a single night.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 187





	When The Sun Sets

The sounds of the arena fade away. 

Geralt listens to his breathing, his eyes study the body on the ground. He can’t help but wonder what hopes and dreams this man had, if they were just to survive another day, to see one more sunrise. 

Now, those dreams are no more and Geralt glances up at his master that cheers, who finds this all so amusing. When Geralt is led from the arena to his cell, he is stopped by another guard, his presence requested at the manor. Forced to follow, Geralt remains paranoid of his surroundings, muscles tense as he is presented to his master. 

He barely listens to the man’s words, knowing it is nothing more than empty compliments and manipulative tactics to keep Geralt complacent. It is only when his master says something about a bath that Geralt snaps to attention. 

The man talks about food and wine, how Geralt brings in so much money that he deserves to enjoy this evening. Geralt is sure it’s another ploy, but he won’t argue if it means one night of luxury. Washing is the first thing Geralt wishes to do and he is led from one room to the next by a servant of the house.

Geralt trails behind in silence, glancing at the unnecessary decorations, this finery that brags. When he is free, Geralt won’t fall to such greed. All he wants is his peace and he’ll take it in the form of a small field if he has to.

Eventually, Geralt finds himself in a room cut off from the rest of the house. There are small fountains around the room and in the center lies a deep pool.

The pool is small, square, but enough to hold several people. A few bottles and candles litter the edges, the light from the candles bright enough to illuminate the teal blue of the water. 

Waiting until he is left alone, Geralt removes what little clothing he has and rinses himself off before stepping into the pool. He makes his way to the far corner and sits on the ledge that rests beneath the surface of the water. As Geralt sinks down, a soft sigh leaves him, his aches starting to fade. There has never been a time where he has been treated well as this and he almost wishes he wasn’t given the chance. 

Then, he wouldn’t have to miss it in a matter of hours. 

Letting his eyes close, Geralt forgets about the day’s trials, listening only to the wisps of steam around him, the lull of the water when he shifts. 

“May I join you?”

Geralt’s eyes snap open, a frown already on his face as before him stands a man wrapped in plain, white fabric. His smile is small, genuine, but what really catches Geralt’s attention is how there are no scars on his body, nothing to indicate he’s had a life outside of this household. Geralt is ready to assume this man is one of his master’s sons, until Geralt catches the raised, burnt skin at the man’s wrist, a symbol that matches the one on his shoulder. 

“Who sent you?” is all Geralt asks, suspicious of this man’s intentions. 

“My mistress actually,” the man answers, smile still on his face. “She thought you could do with a little company.”

Geralt had seen the mistress’s eyes on him again and again, but the gaze is never one of lust. Whatever she feels towards Geralt is unclear and muddled even more by the presence of this man. Seeing that the man has no intention of leaving, Geralt shrugs, a motion copied by his hand. 

The man’s smile brightens and his robe drops to reveal pale skin, a body so thoroughly cleansed that there is little hair to be seen. Geralt knows the mistress can be particular in the upkeep of her servants but to this extent is excessive. He’s thankful the only thing he must do is oil himself down before his competitions.

With an unassuming grace, the man steps into the water and makes his way over to Geralt, stopping just before him. Geralt notices the cloth in his hand and he tenses as the man reaches around him, grabbing one of the various bottles Geralt had ignored. 

“This should help some of your injuries,” the man explains as he pours a little liquid onto the cloth.

He reaches out, but pauses when his hand is a breath away from Geralt’s skin. Blue eyes meet Geralt’s own amber ones and ask a question that Geralt finds a reply for easily. With Geralt’s nod, the man begins washing Geralt, tending to the wounds scattered across his body. 

“What is your name?” Geralt finds himself asking. 

He’s pulled into the man’s touch, the attentiveness to every speck as he wipes the cloth in a trained, memorized manner. 

“Jaskier,” the man smiles as he looks at Geralt. 

Geralt nods as his heart thumps in his chest. Jaskier holds a certain kind of beauty to him, a hopeful soul with an unyielding heart. It almost makes Geralt envious, but instead, he falls towards something that Geralt has not felt for a long time. 

“And, you, White Wolf?” Jaskier asks, tilting his head a little. “What do they call you?”

“Just that,” Geralt can’t help quip. 

It’s not a lie. Geralt hasn’t used his real name in years. If it weren’t for dreams, distant memories, Geralt is sure he would’ve forgotten it the moment he became a gladiator. 

“Surely you must have a different name, the one your friends, your family called you.”

Geralt frowns a little at this. “I never had either.”

Jaskier’s hand stills and he stares at Geralt for longer than he is comfortable with. Geralt shifts, watches as Jaskier tentatively begins his washing again. The new look on Jaskier’s face tugs at Geralt’s heart and he steadies himself with a small sigh. 

“Geralt,” he says at last. “My name is Geralt.”

The corners of Jaskier’s mouth curl up and he repeats Geralt’s name. “A good, strong name. Just like your title,” Jaskier commends. 

Geralt can’t help let out a breath through his nose, a small attempt at a laugh. Jaskier picks it up all the same and grins back. 

“I do mean it, Geralt. I don’t throw my words around lightly.” 

Geralt has no doubts of that, but says nothing, watching as Jaskier sets the cloth aside. Fingers card through his hair then and Geralt presses into the touch. Now, Jaskier is standing in front of him, their bodies almost pushed up together as Jaskier admires Geralt’s hair. He studies every strand as if Geralt is a sculpture and Jaskier is the artist. Geralt doesn’t mind, just slightly entranced by the man before him. 

“You can touch me if you’d like,” Jaskier tucks some hair behind Geralt’s ear. “I am yours for the night.”

Geralt blinks at this, hardly believing the words. He doesn’t want to trust it, but then again, if this was a scheme, Geralt is sure he would’ve figured it out by now. 

With a swallow, Geralt lets his fingers brush against Jaskier’s arm, trailing from his shoulder down to the wrist. His heart thumps when Jaskier bites his lip, a soft breath leaving him as Geralt runs his fingers back up. He holds his palm against Jaskier’s neck, feels his pulse, his breathing before he starts to lean in, hoping Jaskier will meet him halfway. 

The kiss is gentle, warm, and Geralt’s resolve starts to crumble with every second. He lets Jaskier pull him close, allows their bodies to move and meld together. Jaskier is strong, his hands lightly scratching at Geralt’s back as their kiss deepens. It becomes an embrace of nips and sucks, tongues searching and tangling as the two let their desires fuel them. 

A small thought enters Geralt’s mind and he leads Jaskier backwards until they hit the wall of the pool. Helping Jaskier up, Geralt positions him to sit on the edge, massages Jaskier’s thighs as he stands in the water between his legs. Jaskier watches him through hooded eyes, his cock hardening until it is stiff and red, begging to be touched. Geralt takes hold of Jaskier’s cock and licks up the length, pride swelling at the moan he pulls from Jaskier. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighs, his hands tangling into Geralt’s hair. “More.”

Geralt isn’t one to deny such a request and he takes Jaskier into his mouth, a pleased hum leaving him as Jaskier gasps, his grip on Geralt’s hair tightening. With his hand and mouth moving opposite of each other, Geralt teases Jaskier as he swipes his tongue around, taking more of Jaskier’s length with each suck. Jaskier whimpers, begs, his hips shallowly thrusting as Geralt moves a little faster. 

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Jaskier gasps, his head falling back and Geralt makes his move. 

Taking away his hand, Geralt holds Jaskier by the hips and takes all of Jaskier into his mouth until Jaskier’s cock is pulsing at the back of his throat. Jaskier swears, his moan echoing off the high ceiling. His body is shaking and when Geralt begins to pull off, there is a small sob at the loss. Geralt isn’t finished however and he repeats the action again, the hands in his hair pulling violently. It’s a pleasant burn that stirs Geralt’s own cock and he continues to push Jaskier to his limits.

“Geralt, Geralt,” Jaskier repeats, his voice becoming strained. “I can’t–I need–”

Before Jaskier can orgasm, Geralt takes his mouth off Jaskier and pulls him back into the water. 

“Fuck you,” Jaskier bites, though there is no real anger in his voice. 

His legs wrap around Geralt’s waist as he pulls Geralt into a searing kiss, leaving them both breathless by the end of it. As Geralt kisses and bites his way down Jaskier’s neck, his hand trails down Jaskier’s back, brushing against his entrance. 

Jaskier lets out a stuttered moan, his hips shifting down onto Geralt’s finger. Slowly, Geralt pushes in and his knees almost buckle with the praise Jaskier sings. 

“I could come just from your finger alone,” Jaskier gasps, rutting his cock against Geralt’s own. “Gods above, I can’t wait to have you in me.”

Geralt can already see that beautiful image of Jaskier begging for his cock, gasping for his release. The fire inside Geralt only grows and he is quick to get another finger into Jaskier. He is attentive to when Jaskier needs time to adjust, stretches when Jaskier encourages him. Jaskier could ask the world of Geralt and he would happily do the task. 

When Jaskier is full with three fingers, a near shout fills the room and Geralt pushes up again so he can hear that beautiful voice. 

“Please, Geralt, now,” Jaskier begs, trying to make Geralt’s fingers push deeper inside of him. 

Geralt carefully removes his fingers and Jaskier whines, but he quickly climbs off of Geralt and positions himself on the steps, hands and knees, his legs spread open as his entrance beckons for Geralt. 

An animalistic urge takes over Geralt and he grabs a bottle, coating himself in oil before lining himself up with Jaskier’s cock.

“Yes, you’re going to be so good,” Jaskier blabbers, more words leaving him, but incoherent as Geralt pushes in the head of his cock. 

When Jaskier’s head falls back, Geralt grabs hold of his hair, tugging as he shoves himself to the hilt. Jaskier’s shout is a prayer to the gods and Geralt is weak for worship. He slowly thrusts his cock, watches intently as it moves in and out of Jaskier, the way his entrance fits perfectly around the girth. With his other hand gripping tight onto Jaskier’s hip, Geralt’s pace picks up, encouraged by Jaskier’s urgings.

“Fill me, let me know all of you,” Jaskier pleads, his words caught in heavy gasps and moans. 

Geralt’s thrusts are harsh, quick, and soon Jaskier is succumbing to his orgasm, perhaps waking the entire house with his shouts of ecstasy. Moving his arms to hold Jaskier close, Geralt snaps his hips a few more times before releasing into Jaskier, warm pleasure encapsulating his body. 

When he pulls out of Jaskier, some of his seed drips into the pool and Geralt runs a thumb over Jaskier’s abused hole. 

Jaskier shivers, allows himself to sink into the water before shakily getting to his feet, pulling Geralt into a tight embrace. Gerat is quick to return in, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he falls into that which is Jaskier. 

He doesn’t want the night to be over, doesn’t want this to be the only time he sees Jaskier. They may be strangers, but in his heart Geralt knows he has loved Jaskier before. In another time, another place, they were bound, heart and soul.

“When this is over,” Geralt breathes. “When I gain my freedom, I’ll come and free you too.”

Jaskier pulls back, takes Geralt’s face into his own and searches before a small, watery smile breaks onto his face. He kisses Geralt, their desperation seeking out each other before they simply take to holding each other. 

As they drift away, a better future doesn’t seem so far after all and for a night, what they have is perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on the blue hellsite
> 
> [Tumblr](http://fromkaermorhentolettenhove.tumblr.com)


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